Wacky Wednesday
by Dakota Reynolds
Summary: Harry’s diversion walked through the room and planted itself in his lap. Its name was Draco Malfoy. Cue raunchy music. HPDM Warning: Very much slash, very much rated R
1. What will it take?

**Warning: Very much slash, very much rated R…you are warned.**

Sometimes Harry didn't even know why he bothered.  He knew he hated these mindless parties, full of their flowing alcoholic beverages and scantily clad seventh years.  He knew he hated the peer pressure that always quadrupled on him whenever a kissing game was played.  He hated how everyone acted different.

He was hardly normal, and his school was hardly normal, and magic was hardly normal, so he supposed it should have been too much to hope that his classmates behave normally.  In all honestly and fairness, he should have seen it coming.

It was in this way that 17-year-old Harry Potter found himself in the Gryffindor Tower on the last day of December, waiting to ring in the New Year.  It was only 10 o'clock and he felt as if the night had lasted forever.

It was tradition for the four houses to put aside some of their differences in the seventh year for a few parties.  It seemed that even the Slytherins realized that their adolescent party days were almost over.  Soon they'd all be hustled off to desk jobs at the Ministry or heading up the equipment manager departments for minor league quidditch teams.

Harry sat on one of the overstuffed armchairs, guzzling down butterbeer like no tomorrow.  It wasn't like him to be this alcohol prone, but let's face it: the guy was wound too tight.  After battling evil Lord Voldemort countless times since he had even been alive, who wouldn't be?  But what Harry really needed was a diversion.

Too bad, after two hours of drinking non-stop, Harry lost all sense of self-control.

Good thing no one would notice, for it appeared that everyone else had lost it way before he had.  Harry noticed Ron and Hermione had finally come to terms with their love for each other and had been snogging passionately on the floor for the past half hour.  Harry didn't even try and think about how much they had been drinking.

And you all thought Hermione was the responsible one.

Anyway, this story isn't about Hermione.  We'll save that for another day.

Harry's diversion walked through the room and planted itself in his lap.

Its name was Draco Malfoy.  (Cue raunchy music).

Harry hadn't bothered to dress up.  He hadn't seen the point.  He wore a green sweater that Ron's mum had knitted for him this past Christmas, and a pair of black trousers which, (surprise, surprise), actually fit.  Hermione had convinced him he'd needed them, because she was always fed up with his sloppy appearance.  At least having proper fitting clothes, she reasoned, wouldn't hurt, even if Harry didn't care about looking neat.

As it were, Draco was sitting on Harry's lap like he was a little kid.

Which he wasn't.

Both Draco and Harry had found themselves to be near 6 feet tall, and it was a discrepancy who was taller.  It seemed that on Tuesdays and the odd Sunday, Draco appeared to tower over Harry, but on national holidays and every-other Friday, Harry was taller.

This Wednesday found Harry taller than Draco, since it was New Year's Eve.  It worked out for the best, since if Draco had been taller, it would have seemed obscure for him to be sprawled in Harry's lap.

If Harry had been sober, and if Harry had been well-rested, and if Harry had been un-emotionally scarred (his best friends were snogging on the floor, for Merlin's sake!), he might have had a problem like this, but nothing like a wild, meaningless, drunken party to hook-up two enemies, right?

There was a point to Draco's lap visit.  The whole of the seventh year class had written down everyone's names in different fishbowls to play a snogging game.

Yes, you guessed it, Harry and Draco were up.

In the style of a game show host, Draco slurred with liquored breath, "Hey Potter, guess what you've won?"

Predictably, Harry groaned, as one can only do when faced with the prospect of making out with one's archrival in a closet for seven minutes, but when one really doesn't mind.  Ever since Harry was eleven years old he had been forced to have an open mind, and since then, he had learned to never be surprised about things out of the ordinary.

Funny, you'd think even intimate contact with a rival might register on the "wrong" side of the things in which Harry considered doing.

He'd never thought about kissing a boy before, either, but that realization escaped him.

People do funny things when they are drunk.

With the small thought residing in the very depths of Harry's mind that he might possibly regret it tomorrow, he grudgingly hoisted himself off the couch and followed Draco into the cloak closet.  His mind couldn't wrap itself around what he might end up doing once he was in there, but right now, that didn't matter.

Draco pulled the door closed.  Despite the absence of light in the cupboard, Draco seemed to glow.  Ever the Slytherin, his silver button-down shirt and black trousers still neglected to cover up all of his pale, pale skin.

Harry's breath hitched in his throat as Draco reached for Harry's shoulders.

Harry could smell the vodka on the other boy's breath, and he could feel his own heart rate thump-thump-thumping in his chest.

Still, he did nothing to stop it.

He let Draco rub his shoulders some, in a way of a drunken massage, he felt Harry needed to loosen up in order to do any sort of lip action at all.

Since Harry had only kissed one girl before, in the fifth year, and that was somewhat sloppy, he left it up to Draco to initiate it.  If rumors were true, and most of them were, Draco had had plenty more experience than he in matters of physical attraction.

Harry didn't even know why Draco was doing this.  He thought the Slytherin would sooner lop off his platinum blond locks and trade them for Medusa's than willingly kiss him.

Though as Draco's lips gently caressed Harry's, Harry certainly wasn't about to complain.

Everything else faded away, until all that was left was Draco and Harry, in the closet, their lips moving together like waves in the sea.

In the style of all the romantic-meant-to-be-together clichés, their two mouths clicked and their tongues lolled, over and over together in the now rapidly-rising temperature of the small, stuffy cupboard.

Draco's expertise in the kissing department left Harry breathless and aroused.  Everything the suave Slytherin did was smooth and polished, and his lovely love-making skills would undoubtedly be the same, if the way he snogged was any indication.  Yes, Draco was oh-so-good at this.

As soon as Harry moaned slightly right into Draco's swollen, gentle, lush lips, Draco slowed down a little, and pulled back slightly.  Harry was so overcome by this new experience- this play on his every emotion and sensation- that all he could do was stand there and let Draco take him over.

Draco trailed his tongue over Harry's pink lips, which were slightly parted in anticipation of new pleasures yet to come.  He gently probed with his lips the lips of the other boy, gently took Harry's lips with his own as if they were the key to everything he had ever wanted.

Bloody hell, if Draco kissed everyone this way, Harry could see why he'd have had his way with myriads of students.

Draco's hands pushed and pulled in the awesomality of their existence, they rubbed and soothed, they caressed and explored Harry's skin, his hair, his shirt…

In what Harry would only later remember as the most sensual move he had ever experienced, Draco gently, ever-so-gently, took Harry's bottom lip in between his own two lips and played with it a little, eliciting a tremble from Harry.

Harry was now pushed up against the wall, his arms wrapped tight as can be around Draco's form and his eyes screwed shut.  It didn't matter anymore whatever had been between the two.  Harry couldn't begin to recall the crass and crude language that had been exchanged between the two, couldn't even remember the hurt feelings, the betrayals, the pranks.  That part of their lives was done, over, past, and things would never ever be the same.

And Harry wouldn't want them to be the same.

How come they had never done this before?

The very fact that Harry had never gotten to experience this…this…pleasure that was so intense, this exquisite feeling of being utterly connected with someone else, someone he had known in only one way before, and now could not wait to know in all the ways of possibly knowing.

It was Harry who made the next move, Harry who surprised them both.

Harry let his hand travel up Draco's sides, bumping over his ribcage, and tangling in the folds of the shiny, shimmering silk.  The sweat on his palms slipped over the buttons on Draco's shirt, wetting the part where the two sides met and covered Draco's divine body with Harry's fingerprints, Harry's intentions.

He fumbled with the buttons.  No make-out session is complete without some form of awkwardness.  Smiling into Harry's mouth, Draco let him figure it out for himself.  He liked seeing the Boy Who Lived become the Boy Who Fumbled Around And Had Trouble Getting to Second Base.  It was attractive.

Now, Draco had no problem at all smooching with his long ago foe.  He had always found that what he couldn't have was so very, very attractive.  He had also found that he was attracted to both guys and girls.  Let's face it, when you're as smooth as our favorite Slytherin, why limit yourself?

Draco hadn't had a crush on Harry, per se, but he had been attracted.  And we all know that people have a tendency to tease the objects of their affection.  It was like how a cat toys with a mouse before devouring it whole.

By now Harry's fumblings were getting frantic, as if he had an overwhelming urge to take this a step higher, that he wanted their messings-around to be kicked up a notch, and he wanted it now.

Draco pulled back slightly, and tilted his head just enough so that his long, slim, flawless nose nestled Harry's shorter, smooth nose, and their soft skin rubbed and created a heat from their friction that ignited Harry's soul.

Their foreheads were pressed together as Draco's breath tickled Harry's lips, his cool exhalations gliding over Harry's sensitive skin.  Draco's smile was felt against his cheek, and he whispered, "Let me help you."

Draco seductively held Harry's eyes with his own, though the pull for Harry to look at Draco's muscular chest was almost more than he could bear.  Draco slid out of his shirt, which he carefully draped over one of the boxes.  Then Draco came toward Harry with a look in his eye that let Harry know exactly what this was.

A gnawing voice had hammered away inside Harry's brain since all this began.  It had said that all of it was a trick, that Draco was just doing this to pull a fast one on Harry, but as soon as Draco's wise mouth had captured his own, he, on most levels, had stopped caring.  Yet there was still the undeniable possibility that this was just a game for Draco and that tomorrow it'd all go away like it meant nothing in the first place.

Until now.  When Draco had looked at Harry, it was in the way that Harry had always dreamed of being looked at.

As a boy who had no loving parents, no proper upbringing in a house full of love, Harry was clueless as to what love actually was.  He had no idea.  But if love was what could make him feel like _this_, then love rocked his world.  Love was his wonder drug, and he was an opium fiend, a crack addict, a pothead.

Perhaps this wasn't love.  Honestly, how could it be?  But at the very least it was lust.  And that's all Harry needed, for right now, and probably forever.  If he could have Draco look at him like this and touch him like that he'd be the happiest wizard alive.

If he even knew what happy was.

But let's not get off topic.

The lust (yes, we've decided it is lust) in Draco's eyes virtually nailed Harry into position.  He liked feeling needed, wanted, attractive.  Harry was in love with love.  Er, no, Harry was in love with lust.

Harry felt like a different person.  It was someone else who was touching Draco all over, someone else running his hands over the smooth, solid, pale body, and someone else bending their mouth down to taste the sweet succulent skin of Draco's shoulder.

If it would have gone further, no one knows.  At least, not yet, anyway.

The door to the cupboard was pulled open by Seamus Finnegan, who had taken it upon himself to run the kissing games, and making sure to get plenty of action, himself.

The time was up, and it was all Harry could do to restrain himself from using one of the unforgivables on Seamus, stupid Irish prat that he is, and it was all he could do to not pull Draco in, not slam the door, and not keep them there forever and ever.

Draco gathered up his shirt and brushed past Harry, who was looking extremely disheveled and put-off at the sudden, screeching halt to the best seven minutes of his life.  Draco pushed up against Harry, who, unfortunately, could not _be_ more aroused, though this action would have caused that, had it been possible, and delighted his ear with a, "To be continued…"


	2. We all know Harry

We all know Harry's one to let himself be taken up with a thought.  He'll sit there and think it, think it, think it until it is beyond dead.  He's not merely obsessed with whatever new thing is troubling him, but he also lets it take front and center in his brain, working its way into his every breathe, every emotion and every single action he could possibly perform.

            Far be it from a troubled seventh-year wizarding world hero to take some time and please himself.  Far be it from him to even give himself a second thought.  All his soul-sucking obsessions focused on conquering evil with aim like a sharpshooter.  Too bad this time it turned out to be a red herring.  Perchance ickle Harry has found his diamond in the rough?

            Hardly.  Believe you me, Harry was not about to let himself be fooled by this…this…Slytherin slut…this smooth sailor…this sultry scarlet wo-ahem-_man…this streetwalking sleep-around who had just given Harry such an enjoyable experience, he was more likely to forget his own Firebolt than those seven minutes of…what did the muggles call it?  Oh yes…seven minutes of heaven._

            Of course now Draco was engaged in a rather heavy drinking game, and looking so damn sensual while being a raving drunk that it was all Harry could do not to scream out in pure ecstasy from just observing this lustful specimen.  His gleaming silver eyes and matching glistening hair…Harry had never noticed before how much Draco's hair resembled a unicorn's…so soft and…

            Oh, but the only way for Harry to get past his current fixation would be to think it to death…not that we were complaining…

            Moving on, though, like all stories must…

            So it was now 10:07, and Harry was employing every last unwasted brain cell he had on plans to get back to the place he had been with Draco…wherever that was.

            By this time Harry was drunk beyond recognition.  He had always been a boy of self-control and careful words, taking measures to avoid rocking the boat and, even more, to avoid making waves.

            But perhaps this is what the wound-tighter-than-a-clock Potter needed, what would finally cause him to come out of his crustaceous shell.  Let's face it, our favorite quidditch seeker had not exactly had too much romantic experience with _anyone, let alone members of the same sex.  His past with girls?  Ended quite badly, didn't it?  His "present" with one Mr. Malfoy?  Going quite…well…for lack of all other words.  True, now Draco was getting even more drunk off his ass, but they were 17, it was New Year's Eve, and it was their last year before graduation.  Draco deserved to party, and Harry deserved to party even more._

            So how come he was sitting on an over stuffed chair by himself?

            The world was already upside down, if that was even possible…

            Might as well do something out of the ordinary while you still can.

            Harry needed a plan…but he wasn't used to doing this alone!  What good is a hero without his sidekicks?  Two sidekicks who were, currently, exploring each other's tonsils on the common room floor.

            Well, Harry never was one to just watch.  Everything held some sort of personal meaning to him, and caused him to react, and let's face it, sucking face with sly Slytherins did not leave you un-aroused.  He decided to take care of his current horniness alone…and headed for the bathrooms.

            He closed the door behind him and began to relieve himself of his sexual tension.  As he was beginning to feel, shall we say, relieved?  The door knob turned and opened up behind Harry.  Harry froze, for a split-second, unable to do anything to hide what catholically "sinful" activity he had been pursuing.  Then he scrambled to zip up his trousers and eliminate all evidence, though the logical voice in his head said that he had already been caught.

            "Well, well, Potter…never though I'd see you going at it like that…couldn't wait for me?"

            The voice drawling behind Harry sent ice through his veins, almost as if he had accidentally walked through Nearly Headless Nick again.

But Harry talking wasn't necessary.  Draco walked up behind him and placed his hands on Harry's hips.  He brought his lips in seductively to whisper in Harry's ear.

"Need some help with that?" he asked huskily, in such a low pitch that Harry thought it shouldn't be allowed.  All the while he looked Harry in the eyes in the mirror, and rubbed his hands up and down on Harry's hips.

What a loaded question.  Was Draco teasing?  Was he simply drunk?  Harry couldn't reply.  What was going on?  He wished so much that Draco was sincere, because even if he wasn't certain exactly what would happen after that, he didn't want to deny himself the extreme pleasure of being with Draco, and feeling like he had just minutes ago.  The Slytherin prefect certainly knew what he was doing.  And, besides the fact that this was his archrival in practically all things, especially quidditch, and besides the fact that this was another male, and besides the fact that he came from a Death-Eater family, it felt so right to Harry.

Luckily, Harry didn't have to answer.  Draco had lowered his lips to Harry's smooth skin and proceeded to nestle and suck at the muscular, quidditch-toned shoulder until a rich, red love bite appeared, leaving his mark on the boy that was, using any common sense, completely wrong from him.  They had everything going against any potentiality of a relationship.  What exactly was he doing?  All he knew was that he shouldn't be doing this, and that his father would, if he knew, disapprove.  This was, of course, motive enough for Draco to pursue a secret, physical relationship with the Boy Who Was His Biggest Competition.

Quite honestly, Harry loved the feel of Draco's skin on his. He loved the feel of Draco's arms around him, the feel of—Hello!  What was that?

So Draco _was getting a physical response from Harry…it just wasn't verbal._

Funny how these things worked.

Draco paused when he felt Harry's hardness against his own slim hip.  He couldn't help but grin at the reaction he had generated.  He felt oddly proud, as if climbing Mt. Everest or operating one of those muggle can-open things.

They went back to snogging and the heat of their activities hung heavy in the air.

In the style of mad muggle pornos, they had quite forgotten their past with each other and were completely caught up in the moment.

Let's not get into any risqué details, but I will say that they did practically everything but **it.**

This is probably due to the fact that Harry is utterly viginal.

That and Seamus had once again interrupted with his lovely timing in tow, no doubt subconsciously wanting to get a glimpse of the action when all he could do, when faced with the vision of his fellow Gryffindor do-gooder going at it in the loo with the sneaky Slytherin prince himself, was stare.

Yes, they knew they were hot.  They don't need more people openly gaping at them like this.

Can you picture it?

I bet you are.

Back on topic…So Seamus busted in and broke up the party-that-nearly-was-in-Harry's-pants.  (_So_ sad…) and after both parties simply frozen on the spot, they began to move at once.  Harry got up off of his knees and Draco zipped up his pants, coming off the wall on which he had been leaning.  The fog of His Experience With Draco settled very nicely around Harry's brain, or at least the functioning parts of it left after all the alcohol he'd consumed.  He'd be uber hung over tomorrow.

But right now, he, predictably, didn't care.

Draco, with his ever-present sneer, drawled, "Enjoy the show, Finnegan?"

"Eeep!" was all Seamus could manage, which, when you thought about it, was quite a lot.

Harry, saying nothing, was quietly frustrated that, first he had been interrupted snogging Draco Malfoy, then had been caught wanking by none other than Draco Malfoy, and then had been interrupted getting to third base with Draco Malfoy.

Is it so bad to try and ravish your rival?

Hey, that could be a new Hogwarts spirit day…Ravish Your Rival…

Anyway, Mr. King of Kisses breezed out of the restroom with all the confidence and suave-ness he normally possessed, his eyes never leaving Harry's.  It was all Harry could do, after that look, to keep himself from running after Draco and begging him to sweep him up to the Slytherin dorms for hours of mad sex.

Just like Malfoys never loose control, Potters always maintain their sense of pride…

Oh, sod it _all.  Who was he kidding?_

Harry exited right after Draco, pushing Seamus aside, though the Irishman's mouth was still agape, but hands fidgeting for the pockets of his robes, probably in his pathetic effort to appear nonchalant.


	3. Needless to Say

            Needless to say, Harry was fed up with Seamus' interruptions.  What would it take for him to have better timing, at least?

            Getting caught sucking off your enemy was not the best thing that could happen to you, you know.

            Anyway, after that experience, Harry doubtless needed a very cold shower.  He decided that since his two best friends were prefects and, apparently, _distracted_ at this point in time, they wouldn't mind if he made use of the prefect's bathroom.  The two had told Harry months ago the password to this private place and since all Harry truly wanted to do was take a cold shower and relieve himself of all this erotic energy he felt, but couldn't rightly act on, nor even utilize.  He was already caught in self-pleasure once, and let's face it…Moaning Myrtle got off on things such as that.  Why else would she frequent the bathrooms so much?  Obviously, Harry also wanted to avoid getting interrupted, by Mr. Seamus-I-Don't-Mind-Having-A-Peek Finnegan, deceased Hogwarts alumni, _or_ otherwise.

            Harry walked up to the 7th year Boy's dorms and gathered up his invisibility cloak.  He certainly could do without drunken stares and the like he might get from fellow students, or virtually sober stares he might get from those who perhaps had not had that much to drink, and who had registered and the Slytherin Prince and St. Potter had been caught in the act—twice—by Seamus Finnegan.

            Harry trudged to the prefect bathrooms, and desire was pent up inside him.  His want…need…lust for Draco was so overpowering that he clearly could not do anything else without taking a very cold shower.

            He had never been this…horny.

            As if he had a close familiarity to horny.  Harry was hardly one to want someone this bad, on this level of intensity.

            Essentially, he had never wanted anyone like this.  Sure, he had that thing for Cho Chang, whatever that was.  Sure, he might have dreamed about her, one day, in an innocent, more romance-orientated fashion, but certainly not in a Must-Do-Right-Now fashion.

            He felt that if he did _not_ get Draco right now, there might be no point in living, because nothing else could ever be so enjoyable, not anymore, not after he'd had his grand taste of Draco…in more ways than one.

            As he traveled down the corridor, heading for the bathrooms, his mind's eye so clearly pictured Malfoy's sweet, probing lips, his smooth, creamy neck, his well-endowed maleness…

            The soft spot behind his ear, gently, softly covered lightly with fine, pure hair…

            The sharp collar bones on either side of his elongated neck…

            Harry simply ached with desire…his very core pulling…needing…demanding.

            Always, always listen to your inner self.

            Harry reached the prefect bathrooms, hand grasping the cold, hard steel, fingers raking at the door.  He strode into the room, and tore off his invisibility cloak, tossing it carelessly on the floor.  His sweater followed, and soon he stood in all his birthday glory, surrounded by the rich, cool marble of the lush bathroom.  His hard, erratic breathing reverberated throughout the room.

            "Well…well…well…couldn't wait for any foreplay this time?"

            (Three guesses who it is…)

            (No, not Seamus!)

            Our favorite Slytherin showed himself, stepping out of the corner, his shirt already unbuttoned, and trousers sitting dangerously low on toned, muscular hips.

            Harry turned, giving Draco an eyeful.

            Not that it wasn't a pleasant sight.

            Draco rather enjoyed it, truth be told.

            Anyway…Harry (for once) replied quite smoothly, "As a matter of fact, I couldn't.  That's how bad I needed you."

            He met Draco halfway, and tore off his opponent's shirt, tossing it mindlessly into the depths of the echoing chamber.  He grasped Draco's shoulders and pulled him closer, their chests magnetically reinforced, with no hopes of separation.

            (Author takes a break, because even the author is getting decidedly heated…and this is only imaginary)

            Harry curved his neck around Draco's, lips tenderly caressing the soft spot behind his ear, leaving a trail of delicious kisses down his jaw line, and moved up to kiss the side of the bride of Draco's oh-so-polished nose.

            Where did Draco get such a beautiful, Renaissancian nose like that?  One descended undoubtedly from royalty, the center of thousands of paintings, the epitome of picture-perfect.  There it sat, smooth, slender, and utterly, utterly flawless, residing exactly center of Draco's absolutely symmetrical face.

            As Harry's lips brushed Draco's nose, Draco's golden eyelashes fluttered.  His long, delicate eyelashes simply made for his intensely sensual stares, his death glares, his shining shimmering eyes, that seemed to light up and laugh whenever he mocked someone.

            Which happened to Harry quite a lot.

            Harry's lips grazed Draco's smooth temple, right by his hairline.

            "Don't mess up the hair, Potter," Draco whispered.

            Draco could feel Harry smile into his skin, feel the slight nod of understanding.

            He could also feel Harry somewhere else, which, in turn, made Draco smile.

            Draco began to make his way down Harry's throat, leaving raw, red marks wherever he sucked with his perfect aristocratic mouth.  His mouth went on to encircle Harry's nipples, playing with them with his subtle tongue until they were hard and tense.

            To this, Harry let out a groan of desire.  He couldn't take it anymore.  He grasped Draco's arm and pulled him up, searching for his mouth like a niffer searching for gold.

            Their lips met, crashed, fought, lolled, and pushed in what could only be described as throes of passion.  Harry moaned into Draco's mouth; this intense kissing was not enough, his desire was too great, too large, to be satisfied.

            Their hands explored the crevices of each other's bodies, flowed over the smooth, taunt skin of their stomachs and backs, enjoying the tension between them, this sexual tension so thick that it made Hagrid's aptly named rock cakes look as fluffy as a cloud.

            Now, you might be wondering where Harry learned such lustful actions?  It most definitely did _not_ come from experience, and to a certain extent, such things are instinctual.  However, as an almost full-grown male, having spent many, many hours in the library, he was bound to stumble upon some more sordid reading.  He was no stranger to the _idea_ of two guys together, but he had never before pictured himself involved in something so raunchy and taboo.

            But could he help it?  No, his head was swimming in a feverish daze of drunkenness, and his slightly blurry and unstable vision worked in cahoots with Draco's femininity to make him look even more like a member of the opposite sex, despite certain obvious pieces of evidence pressed into Harry right now…

            Harry groan in sexual pleasure as Draco tasted and teased nearly every erogenous zone in his body, having never been so elated in his life.  He willingly let his mind fall from the topic of contemplating Draco's pseudo-holy beauty, and let Draco take hold of him in a _very_ fallen-angel kind of way.

            As Draco stroked him to a near-climax, Harry did his best to hang on to his wits, to keep from floating off in the plethora of emotions that were now overwhelming him.

            Bloody hell, if being sexually active was going to be like this, why in the hell did he not start this sooner?  Seventeen was way, way too late.

            Anyway, since Harry did plunge so deeply into new experiences, and this was undoubtedly a new experience, it was no surprise that Draco was the one to take charge and have his way in this sexual battle, where two enemies were meeting for the very first time.

            As things escalated to what is known as thrones of pleasure, Harry's mind blissfully wandered into never-before seen meadows and valleys and waterfalls, enjoying every scorching touch Draco let linger on his taunt and toned body, every lick Draco sent towards his earlobes, and every word mumbled into his ear.

            And if was Draco was saying was any indication, their days as two enemies, two opposite arguers, were over.  Apparently, Draco had never before enjoyed himself this much, and was certainly _not_ going to let past, un-drunken grudges hold him back from something so…nice.

            Thus is the end of enemies Harry and Draco, Gryffindor and Slytherin, on this wacky, wild Wednesday.


End file.
